I’m just back in from my morning run.
Before I left, she asked me how far I was planning to go,
and I replied, “Only about 3 miles – maybe thirty minutes or so”.
I showed her my intended route on the map,
so that in an emergency she could find me in a hurry.
As soon as I was outside, my mind was transported.
There were poppies and other wildflowers in the hay fields,
faces turned to greet the morning sun.
I ran through swathes of wheat and barley waving in the breeze,
reed beds down by the fen, and woods with birds singing merrily in the trees.
But I had been far too optimistic, and so made several false turns,
finding my way blocked, not wanting to squeeze
my way through tick-infested ferns.
At one point I had to whisper my way past a group of young cattle
that barred my path, even nibbling at my shorts.
Fortunately, that encounter did not end up as a battle.
Some people might laugh at my incompetence,
but I have to disagree because
I was not lost.
And though I will reluctantly admit that I did not know exactly where I was,
I don’t think it really mattered
that I wasn’t quite where I’d expected myself to be.
Anyway, I’m back now,
and as soon as I came through the door I said “sorry”
because I didn’t want the atmosphere to sour.
You see, I had run five-point-four miles, and been out for almost an hour.
And though she didn’t say anything, if past form is anything to go by,
I expect that she had started to worry.
My run gave me a chance to think, and realise that
even though things didn’t go entirely to plan,
I am not lost.
In fact, I happily accept that I do not know exactly where I am,
because it really doesn’t matter
that I am not where I expect myself to be.
(c) Tim O’Hare, July 2023
About this poem: We moved base for the second week of our summer holiday, and after a few less than successful days in Horning in the Norfolk Broads we moved to the village of Redgrave in Suffolk. I instantly relaxed, and was happy, with walks and runs from the doorstep. For my first morning run there I decided to do a loop of Redgrave and Lopham Fen, memorized a route, or at least thought I had memorized a route, and set out. It was a very enjoyable run but, predictably, not knowing the terrain, I dropped off my planned route and had to use my instinct to find my way back to our accommodation, running further, and taking a fair bit longer, than I had planned. I was not exactly lost, but I did not know exactly where I was and as I was running the words ‘I am not lost but I do not now exactly where I am‘ began to play repeatedly in my mind and the seeds of the poem were sown. I think it’s fair to say that the poem isn’t really about being physically lost while out on a run at all…
Tim O'Hare 